“Quite so; very little,” said Lord Selvaine.
“It is the result we must consider. I wish you and Trafford, my dear Selvaine, would consider the matter. Helby” (Mr. Helby was the steward) “has the plans, and shall go over them with you. If you think the proposition a good one, pray let it be proceeded with at once. I should like to see it done.”
“We will,” said Lord Selvaine.
“Thank you very much,” murmured the duke, as if the trivial project were now satisfactorily launched. “Did you notice the tulips, my dear Trafford, as you came across the terrace. I think they are more beautiful than usual. And I want you to go into the third orchid house before dinner, if you have time. I got as far yesterday, and it seemed to me—I may be wrong—that they were rather crowded. If this is so, we must have new houses built. I think they should be much larger than the old ones. Will you give any instructions, if they be necessary?”
“Certainly—certainly!” said Lord Selvaine, answering for Trafford, who looked sadly at the carpet.
The duke patted Trafford’s hand.
“It is a shame to trouble you with business, Trafford, directly you arrive; but I sometimes think that Helby is scarcely—scarcely as energetic as he used to be. I’ve an idea—it may be erroneous—that the stables, for instance, are not as well kept up as they should be. As you know, we have always made a point of—of filling the stalls. You are fond of horses, I know, Trafford, and I should be deeply grieved if you were to find it necessary to complain of a scarcity, or the quality, of the horses. Will you please go over the stables to-morrow, and look into the matter?”
“Yes, sir,” said Trafford, as cheerfully as he could.
The duke continued chatting about the estate, and town gossip, always with the same placid serenity and simple, childish satisfaction. In the midst of their talk the door opened, and a young woman came in.